


À Mon Seul Désir

by CallMeCheerios



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, POV Will Graham, Post-Canon, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, Post-Fall (Hannibal), Sort Of, threeofswords
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-11
Updated: 2018-02-11
Packaged: 2019-03-16 23:52:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13647042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CallMeCheerios/pseuds/CallMeCheerios
Summary: Inspired by a series of tapestries called theLady and the Unicorn. There are six tapestries in total. Five are dedicated to depicting one of each of the senses--taste, hearing, sight, smell, and touch--while the sixth tapestry features the wordsÀ mon seul désir. The phrase translates tomy only desire, and while its true meaning is unknown, it’s often interpreted as representing love or understanding.





	À Mon Seul Désir

**Smell**

It was the aroma that captured Will. The scent of garlic, onion, and thyme uncoiled from the kitchen to wind its way around his body. It greeted him with a friendly embrace. Will closed the front door quietly and divested himself of his coat, scarf, and gloves. He’d spent the afternoon outdoors and without purpose. His path had been meandering as he followed the promise of snow. He could smell it in the February air where it frosted around him with every breath. He’d been hoping the fresh air would cleanse his mind but returned still uncertain. As the subtle dark cherry notes danced around him in the foyer, he felt swept away from himself by the tide of them and carried towards a resolution.

It had been months since they’d felled the dragon and fallen from the heights of the cliff, and now they were fugitives. Hannibal’s careful planning that had brought them here. They were someplace safe where they could move about freely and enjoy their new lives. Contentment was wholly foreign to Will. It was more than he ever thought he could have, and part of him was certain that every moment he spent indulging in the quiet domesticity that was brewing between himself and Hannibal would be their last.

Will had tried to keep his distance. Yet the bay leaves and the burgundy drew him forwards, rich and complex. The hint of spice and a lingering sweetness whispered for him to come closer and welcoming him home.

 

**Sight**

Hannibal was standing at the stove and had his back to Will. He was preparing dinner, graceful, poised, and completely at ease. The beautiful lines of his body were strong and confident. They shifted with each practiced and precise movement. He’d rolled his cuffs over his forearms showing off lean, toned arms. It was almost intimate, watching the swaths of uncovered skin. Hannibal was usually hidden away beneath refined, perfectly tailored layers. As he was now, Hannibal may as well have been naked.

It didn’t require much of Will’s imagination to picture it. The way the shirt clung to Hannibal’s frame highlighted his immaculate figure. His shoulders were broad. They tested the limits of the shirt and strained against the fabric. His muscles rippled and drew Will’s gaze lower, down the taper of Hannibal’s back, to where the apron ties defined his waist.

Will tried not to stare. It made him feel too bare in return, but this was a matter of give and take. Hannibal had turned to watch him, letting the silence linger as he studied Will in return. There was concern in his features and clarity in his eyes. It was all right there in front of Will.

 

**Hearing**

“How was your day?”

Will slid slowly out of his musings, gently coaxed back to the kitchen by the sound of Hannibal’s voice. Will wasn’t sure at first if it was something he’d heard or imagined. There was something about Hannibal’s voice that called to him at all hours. It whispered to him as though it inhabited the wind. It echoed in the pitter patter of raindrops and sang to him softly when he closed his eyes at night. It was a constant, accented companion.

Will would probably never tire of listening to Hannibal speak. His speech was luxuriant, articulate, and charming. There was a certain way that words rolled off of Hannibal’s tongue. He caressed them in his mouth, mulled them over until they were electrified, and then he released them. Will could see Hannibal’s lips move. That perfect pout with the beautiful arches. They bowed and slanted and came to a perfect peak. They danced around the words they spoke, and it was mesmerizing. Lips parted reluctantly like lovers desperate to stay in each other’s embrace. When they reunited, they rejoiced. Their choreography as graceful as the sounds that crafted their melody.

 

**Taste**

With equal grace, the table was set and the dishes delivered. Will seated himself without preamble, taking up his place to Hannibal’s right. A corner sat between them, an angle of dark wood that leached away Will’s indecision. The distance between them shrank further as Hannibal’s quiet curiosity rolled through the air. It was too dense to float above the ether. It hung around them so thick Will could taste its umami. Curiosity like Hannibal’s could be savory and paired better than anything in a wine glass with the evening’s main dish.

The meal was sumptuous, as they all were, but this one bore an unmatched simplicity. It was levied with restraint as the layers of flavors mingled and built until they overwhelmed Will’s ability to dissect the ingredients. He knew they were simple, everyday fare, but there was a power in their union. Their sanctity pervaded his palette.

The components were tender. The meat had been cut delicately away from bone and cooked to perfection. Slivers of mushroom and onion ribboned through the dish and melted into its character. Medallions of carrot infused with the nutty, rustic essence of garlic parted dutifully with each chew. A bouquet garni pursued each bite, leaving light footsteps of thyme, bay, and parsley across Will’s tongue for the next forkful to follow. Each print was washed away by a rolling, red tide of subtle sweetness. It evoked the memory of earth and leather and spice time and again until the delicate pattern of the plate began to reveal itself and the meal dwindled to a close.   

 

**Touch**

The floor rumbled softly under Will’s feet as he pushed his chair away from the table. The rhythm rushed up his body until it was doubled by the beat of his heart. Will could feel each pulse. They threatened to topple him until Hannibal leaned in next to him in an effort to clear Will’s plate.

Hannibal’s presence wound itself around Will and held him tight. Will could feel it snug against him as he swelled with gratitude. He wanted to offer something in thanks for this dinner and all the ones that came before it and all the ones that would come after.

Will placed his hand on Hannibal’s, right over left, stilling Hannibal’s attempts to begin tidying without conscious thought. Will felt emboldened by his connection to the other man. It was sudden and new, and he wanted his own surety in that moment to blanket them both. Whatever indecision that had haunted Will before melted away with the warmth of Hannibal’s skin under his palm.

 

**My Only Desire**

“Will,” Hannibal breathed. His gaze was focused intensely on Will’s hand. His eyes lifted to follow the slope of Will’s reach. Their eyes met and held. It was searing, like the fire that rose in Will and prompted him to stand. It threatened to ignite what little air stood between them.

Will had every intention of explaining, but he suddenly found himself devoid of thought. Words escaped him. The moment elongated. It was stretched taut by the silence. The oxygen that had remained was forced out. Will felt dizzy in its increasing absence. His head spun and the world rocked into a lazy orbit. It swirled until everything blurred. The lines between himself and Hannibal included.

They had been merging Will’s for longer than he was aware. The process wasn’t impeded in the least by his efforts to keep his distance. It was foolish to fight what was inevitable and petty to battle against his own desires. Something about the day, as trifling as Will had found it in the past, had clarified that even further.

Will closed the final few inches between them. He kissed Hannibal, lips soft and pampered against his own, and then pulled back to witness the advent of something new bloom across Hannibal’s face. “Happy Valentine’s Day, Hannibal.”

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to challenge myself to write little snippets and evoke each of the senses, as well as, cap off the fic with a final, all-encompassing passage. This is what came of that.
> 
> Come find me on [Tumblr](https://cheerios-and-pocket-lint.tumblr.com).


End file.
